


living for the right now

by helloearthlings



Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Bonding, Canon Compliant, During Canon, Friendship/Love, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 11:44:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17786747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloearthlings/pseuds/helloearthlings
Summary: The crib isn’t all that’s in the box. There’s a stack of kids’ books – Dr. Seuss, mainly. A couple of onesies. One of them is yellow and has a giraffe pattern on it, the other green with turtles.What really gets Ben is a little brown bear, barely bigger than Ben’s hand when he picks it up with all the reverence he can muster. It’s got a big, bright smile, little black nose, and says I Love You Beary Much on the heart in its paws.“Oh,” Ben hears Sammy’s voice whisper from somewhere behind him. His voice is very soft and thick, like he’s choking tears back.That’s when Ben breaks, little sobs coming out of his mouth that he just can’t help.





	living for the right now

**Author's Note:**

> This one took way too long for as short as it is, but here you go, just in time for Valentines! Our collective favorite day! My semester is busy as hell and I have no idea when I'll write next, but the updates on my long fic will continue on Sunday!.
> 
> I'm deeply scared for what tomorrow brings and this is me coping!!!

“We don’t have to,” Sammy repeats for possibly the fourteenth million time that day, by Ben’s not at all exaggerated estimate. “I’m fine with my borrowed clothes!”

“You shouldn’t be,” Ben opens the passenger side door to his car, vaguely thinking he might have to coax Sammy with a treat like he’s a dog. “Troy’s shirts come down past your fingers, you _swim_ in anything from Tim, and I don’t think I need to tell you how stupid you look wearing my stuff.”

“We could go to the mall or something,” Sammy mutters under his breath as he folds his arms. He’s still on the sidewalk outside their apartment, folding in on himself ever so slightly. The shirt he’s wearing right now is Troy’s – too tight at the shoulders, but entirely too long everywhere else.

“You’d rather go to the _mall_? Where there will be _people_?” Ben raises his eyebrows and Sammy makes a disgruntled noise. “That’s what I thought. C’mon, it’ll be _fine_. Mini road trip with my best bro. Let’s go.”

Sammy grumbles, but he moves ever so slightly toward the car, so Ben knows he’s won.

Back in April, unbeknownst to Ben at the time, Sammy sent all of his stuff to a storage locker a few hours away, with a payment plan set up already so no one would realize that his stuff hadn’t gone with him to an LA apartment that he’d never see.

It upsets Ben when he thinks too much about it, so he tries not to. He tries not to think about any of the circumstances surrounding that night, let alone the night itself.

Instead, he focuses on things that can’t cause an overwhelming feeling of guilt and shame and sadness.

Like going to the storage unit of Sammy’s stuff to take his clothes back, thereby making sure Sammy actually has a wardrobe again instead of living out of the one pair of pajamas of Tim’s that kind of sort of fit him.

Maybe, Ben thinks hopefully, he’ll be more apt to leave the house if he has clothes.

It’s probably a lost cause. It’s been two months, and this is the first time Ben’s convinced Sammy to do much of anything other than come out of his room to eat soup and watch Queer Eye.

Still, this is a step. This is progress! Ben’s got Sammy in the car and they’re driving down the coast.

“Why’d you choose a storage space in California?” Ben asks, just to be conversational. Also because he’s incapable of shutting up. Whatever, he’s on the radio, it’s a habit to talk.

Sammy looks out the window, not at Ben, at the green fields rolling by. His eyes are glazed over though, Ben can see even from here. “Already had a storage unit there from…. from when I moved to King Falls.”

“Oh,” Ben says softly, and doesn’t press.

The storage unit is in northern California, not near LA. Still, it would’ve been on Sammy’s route as he made his way up the coast more than three years ago.

Ben can’t think about that either, the fact that the night he met his best friend was probably one of the worst nights of his best friend’s life. The guilt, the shame, etcetera and so on.

Ben focuses on driving after that – it’s not like he takes a lot of trips out of the falls, might as well enjoy it. It’s only a couple of hours away, but it’s far enough to feel less suffocated by the pressure of everything going on just north of them.

Plus, it gets Sammy out of his usual position of curled up in the corner of his bed in Ben’s apartment, not even taking up the whole space.

“You had a house before – right?” Ben says when the silence has gone on for too long. Sammy’s sort of curled up in the passenger seat, head resting on the window. He almost looks at Ben when he nods, even though there’s a faraway look to him. “So you had to downsize. How much stuff…”

“Enough,” Sammy shrugs, his voice getting a little rougher. “I mean – my apartment here came furnished, so it’s mainly just like, bigger stuff. Couches. Kitchen table.”

“You kept all that?” Ben asks, then panics slightly as he rectifies, “I mean, of course you’d keep it, of course you wouldn’t want to get rid of it. I’m sorry. I – have you been down here at all? Since you dropped it off?”

Sammy shakes his head, and he seems to get smaller even though Ben can’t tell if he’s moved at all or not. Something about the way his head ducks down, the misery etched in the lines on his forehead that have become more pronounced just in the past two months.

“I know my apartment isn’t exactly…” Ben swallows, hoping he’s putting this correctly and that he won’t make Sammy more upset. “It’s not a house, it’s not – I mean, it’s not the same. But I’m glad you’re with me, and not alone anymore. I hope you’re glad about that, too.”

“I’m glad,” Sammy says, almost no hesitation. Relief sweeps through Ben when the corners of Sammy’s lips turn up, as close to a smile as he’s probably going to get.

“Good,” Ben speaks with all the certainty he can. “Maybe we can get more of your stuff than just your clothes? I mean – to make it more like _your_ home. Not just mine.”

Sammy’s quiet, and Ben just _knows_ he said something wrong. He’s been so careful with Sammy. He’s fragile right now, cracks all over, and Ben worries constantly about re-splitting one and then Sammy will just completely fall apart, and it will be all Ben’s fault and he’ll try to put him back together, but it just won’t take a second time –

“Most of it’s Jack’s,” Sammy finally says, barely a whisper. “I – If I have to see it every day, I’ll just be more of a fucking mess than I already am.”

“Okay,” Ben says, though he wonders if maybe a few mementos of Jack having might help Sammy cope a little better. He’d know he had something to hope for, to _fight_ for.

Ben knows it’s a stupid thought, knows Sammy already has reminders of Jack, and he doesn’t need physical objects to keep Jack with him. Jack’s _always_ with him. Not even mentioning that there’s Lily, even if Sammy’s ignoring all of her calls right now.

There’s also Ben. Ben knows he’s got more in common with Jack than just a belief in the supernatural, even if he isn’t quite sure all the ways in which his and Jack’s personalities intersect.

There are ways that Sammy looks at him sometimes, and Lily too, with just a glimpse of heartbreaking sadness. Ben just knows that he’s made them think of Jack.

What Sammy has now that he hadn’t had before is the engagement ring on his finger. Ben wonders where Sammy had hidden it until now – he hadn’t noticed it until after that night.

He’d probably had it with him when he –

Ben can’t think about that.

Sammy directs him to the right exit when they get close enough, and fumbles around to get a key for too long once they get there. He’s putting it off, Ben knows. Ben’s good at being patient, though – well, no he’s not, but he’s getting better, and he puts a hand on Sammy’s shoulder just to remind him that he’s there and he isn’t leaving.

“All my clothes and stuff should just be the boxes in front,” Sammy says after they’ve talked to the guy in charge of the rental spaces and he’s directed them to the right place. “It should just take a few minutes, tops.”

“It can take longer,” Ben says, just to remind him. “If you want to stay longer –”

“I’m tired, and we’ve got a long drive home,” Sammy says shortly, in that way of his that leaves no room for argument.

Ben’s good at needling though, and he’ll push Sammy to stay if it seems like a good idea.

The unit is mostly dark, with plastic crates piled up in the front. Ben lets Sammy pull the taller ones down, cracking a joke at his own expense that makes Sammy give him a fleeting grin.

Ben can’t help but wander though.

It’s in his nature to be curious, and Sammy still isn’t exactly forthcoming, especially when it comes to Jack.

Ben wants to _know –_ not just about Jack’s disappearance, his notebook, clues that could lead them through the Void, but about Jack himself. He wants Sammy to tell him what Jack’s favorite foods are, what jokes he finds funny, how he and Sammy met and the first time they kissed.

Ben just wants Sammy to tell him things that aren’t heavy, but everything is too heavy for Sammy right now.

Ben gets it, he does, he just wants to be there for his best friend no matter what. No matter how much Sammy tries to brush him off and tell it’s fine. Ben knows better.

There are two couches facing each other behind the precariously stacked boxes Sammy’s pulling down. They’re both corduroy blue, matching, but one of them is much larger. Probably the main couch in the living room. Ben wonders how big the house had been – living in LA says not too big, but the money Sammy is able to throw around even years later seems like it could point to something a little more grandiose than Ben’s picturing.

Ben thinks about asking, but knows Sammy won’t answer, not really. Instead, Ben runs a hand over one of the couches, tries to imagine the room it could sit in.

There’s a TV balanced on the other couch, and a box of what look like cooking utensils on this one. Ben can make out what looks like an exercise bike on the other side of the couch and knows it must be Jack’s. He’d tease Sammy about it but Sammy’s having a rough enough day, so Ben will stay quiet.

Instead, Ben moves past the couches to two bedframes, one large and one small. One of them had probably been Sammy and Jack’s, the other one in a guest room or something like that. A second bedroom for plausible deniability if anyone asked.

Ben wonders how they made excuses for living with one another at the radio station for all of half a second, because that’s when he notices it.

Leaning against one of the beds is a half-open box with a crib peaking out.

Ben thinks he doesn’t see it right at first, the shock and sadness mingling in his system. He falls to his knees in front of the box, moving the lid so he can see –

He was right the first time.

There’s a crib, not put together, just the parts sitting in the box, wooden poles and crossbars leaning against one another. Untouched. Covered with a fine layer of dust. Three and a half years’ worth of dust.

The crib isn’t all that’s in the box. There’s a stack of kids’ books – Dr. Seuss, mainly. A couple of onesies. One of them is yellow and has a giraffe pattern on it, the other green with turtles.

What really gets Ben is a little brown bear, barely bigger than Ben’s hand when he picks it up with all the reverence he can muster. It’s got a big, bright smile, little black nose, and says _I Love You Beary Much_ on the heart in its paws.  

“Oh,” Ben hears Sammy’s voice whisper from somewhere behind him. His voice is very soft and thick, like he’s choking tears back.

That’s when Ben breaks, little sobs coming out of his mouth that he just can’t help.

He tries to stifle them, putting his hand over his mouth, but it doesn’t do any good. He keeps crying, quietly as he can. He hopes Sammy hasn’t noticed.

He feels a hand on his shoulder that squeezes ever so slightly.

“You didn’t tell me,” Ben hiccups, guilt and sorrow and grief absolutely overwhelming him, “that you and Jack were going to –”

“It was still far out,” Sammy says quickly. Ben can’t turn to look him in the eye right now or he’ll just shatter on impact. “Just – just an idea. We got engaged and – and we knew we wanted to have kids someday. We were just…. just excited. I found the clothes, Jack got the books and the stuffed animal. We picked out a crib online. It wasn’t gonna be soon, we got…got carried away.”

Sammy’s voice wavers more and more the further along he gets, like he can’t control himself and that’s when Ben turns and accidentally looks him in the eye.

Sammy looks so lost, so alone. He’s nearly shaking, his dark brown eyes blown wide, filled with tears that aren’t falling.

Ben doesn’t know how Sammy can do this. He’s never even _met_ Jack and he’s bawling now, full-fledged draining sobs as he throws his arms around Sammy’s neck, one of his hands still tightly gripping the stuffed bear.

He feels Sammy tremor, and then Sammy starts crying, too.

First Ben can just tell from the wetness on his shoulder, but then Sammy starts breaking down too. He quakes while he cries, and Ben tries to hold him steady but knows he’s doing a pretty shit job at it, shattered as he is right now.

“I’m sorry,” Ben says, muffled into Sammy’s neck. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I made you come here. I could’ve come on my own, I – I’m so fucking sorry. For everything.”

“It’s okay,” Sammy whispers, and lets Ben cry against him. Ben knows it’s not okay, that absolutely nothing is okay and never will be without Jack, but the lie makes him feel better anyway.

* * *

 

Sammy disappears the second they get home, and for once Ben doesn’t even whine and complain to him about it.

Ben kind of wants to disappear too, and knows Sammy deserves to take a moment alone right now after having to deal with Ben sniffling the whole car ride home.

Sammy hadn’t talked much. He’d mainly just stared out the window and shushed Ben when he tried to speak through his tears.

Ben felt almost guilty for crying the whole time – he should be the one to be strong for Sammy right now like Sammy’s always been strong for him, but Ben can’t help it.

Not even now. Standing alone in his kitchen surrounded by boxes of Sammy’s clothes, feeling more lost than ever, Ben finally lets himself burst into tears again. Now that Sammy’s not here, he doesn’t have to feel guilty about just how hard he’s crying.

Ben’s not the one who had a life stolen from him, but he’s the one sobbing his eyes out anyway. He just wishes Sammy could have a life like that. He wants Sammy to be okay, and right now Sammy’s living a hollow half-life out of Ben’s second bedroom. He’s not what he should be – a husband, a father, even a fucking radio host. It’s all gone.

Ben tries to give Sammy his space, but he’s perfectly aware that he won’t be able to stay away for long. Ben knows himself pretty well at this point, and knows that all he’s going to do standing in the kitchen is lose his mind worrying about what Sammy’s doing, what Sammy’s thinking about, if Sammy’s going to be okay.

Ben wipes his eyes, takes a few deep breaths to calm down, and takes the three strides it gets to Sammy’s closed bedroom door.

The door doesn’t lock thankfully, or Ben would have no idea how he’d get in most of the time. Ben will barge in plenty of the time, but today is not a barging-in day. Today is a gentle knock, followed by a creaking door that opens just a crack, just enough for Ben to poke his head inside.

The lights are off, but the lamp next to Sammy’s bed is on. Sammy’s laying flat on his back, jeans and sweatshirt and even his sneakers still on. Just staring at the ceiling.

He’s not crying. Ben doesn’t know if that’s a good sign or a bad one.

Sammy’s eyes are closed, but they twitch at the sound of the door. He doesn’t open them, doesn’t turn his head.

“Hi,” Ben whispers as soft as he can, knowing Sammy isn’t going to respond to anything even resembling pushing right now. Not that Ben would even be able to muster up enough strength to do anything but be gentle and quiet after today.

Sammy’s eyes open, Ben can see from here, but his head doesn’t turn.

“Hey,” Sammy says, voice low. He sounds more exhausted than he’s been since before May, and it twists at Ben’s gut to hear that kind of despondency out of his best friend.

“Can I –” Ben swallows, stopping himself. This is about what will make Sammy feel better, not what will make Ben feel better. “What do you want me to do right now? I can – I can make dinner, or put on a TV show you like, or go get some booze, or, or go to Red Box to rent a movie, or stay with you, or, uh, leave you alone – I should. I should probably just leave you alone, shouldn’t I? Sorry.”

“Ben,” Sammy says, enough force behind Ben’s name to make Ben blink at Sammy a few times. The lines on Sammy’s forehead wrinkle as Sammy opens his eyes to look at Ben. Wide and brown and sad, but with a look that says he’s resigning himself to being smothered with affection. “Just come here.”

Ben can practically feel the tension dissolve from his shoulders, even though he’s tentative as he approaches Sammy.

Sammy’s always been a bit like a cat – if you show him attention, he goes and hides on the top shelf of the closet and hisses at you when you try to scratch him behind the ears. Right now, he’s less of a cat and more of a spooked deer that’s going to bolt off into the woods if Ben makes any sudden movements.

“Don’t be weird,” Sammy cracks an eye open as he gives Ben a half-glare. “C’mon, man, where are your octopus arms? The one time I want you to hug me –”

“There are other times,” Ben says through a watery laugh, relief pouring through him, “you just always have to put up a front.”

“Whatever,” Sammy half-props himself up on an elbow, and Ben takes that as all the encouragement he needs to lean down and hold Sammy as tight as he can.

“I love you,” Ben says into Sammy’s neck and he can feel Sammy sigh from his nose, the breath puffing against Ben’s shoulder.

“Don’t,” Sammy mutters and Ben only squeezes tighter in response. Sammy must be getting used to it, because he finally almost relaxes a teeny, tiny amount.

“Can we talk?” Ben asks, the words coming out more tentative than he’d planned. Sammy’s getting better with accepting Ben’s undying love and devotion to their friendship, but he’s less good at talking about it. Sammy shifts uncomfortably, and Ben pats his back a couple of times to let him know it’s okay.

“I told you everything already,” Sammy’s words are quiet and half-hearted, uncertainty and sadness leaking into his voice.

Ben knows that’s enough to get Sammy to say at least more than two consecutive sentences about Jack at the same time – he usually can only get one out before he reverts to metaphorical cat-like hissing – and Ben releases him from his not-at-all-octopus like grip.

“Yeah, a few months too late,” Ben tries not to let his voice wobble. Now that they’re not hugging anymore, he can see Sammy’s withdrawn, miserable face across from him. Forehead all knotted up, red eyes, chapped lips, tight shoulders, hair falling out of its ponytail holder. “Why didn’t you tell me you and Jack – I mean, you told me you were engaged eventually, why not –”

Sammy grimaces, not quite looking at Ben. “It wasn’t concrete. Barely anything. And if I didn’t say it, then I didn’t have to think about it.”

“I’m so sorry,” Ben says, and doesn’t dissolve into tears at the thought even though he wants nothing more than to cry against Sammy’s shoulder and have Sammy cry on his and have a cathartic, coming together moment of grief that Ben doesn’t think Sammy’s truly had since May. Or since, like, ever, maybe.

“I know,” Sammy says as if he means to reassure Ben, which is just all kinds of annoying. Ben is supposed to be the reassuring one this time, and he’s utterly failing at it. Sammy’s still the one comforting him.

“I just hate that you only met me because you lost so much,” Ben wipes furiously at his eyes to stop them from betraying him. “Not just your future husband, but – but a future _family_. And I know I’m your family, that King Falls is your home but – but it’s not the same, and sometimes I treat it like it is.”

“It’s not the same,” Sammy says, voice small, “but Ben – it’s not _worse_. It’s different. And I miss Jack every day, but – after he disappeared, I never thought I’d have a family again. And now I do. Just because it’s a little brother and not –”

His voice cracks, and Ben feels a rush of affection that can’t be stopped.

“Someday you’ll have it all,” Ben promises, squeezing Sammy’s shoulder. “A home and a family. Jack and your kid. You’re gonna get that, I’m gonna make sure of it.”

“Ben,” Sammy squeezes his eyes shut, voice verging on helpless. Ben shushes him.

“You are,” Ben knows with complete certainty. “You’re gonna be such a good dad, Sammy. The absolute _best_. I can’t decide if you’re gonna be a total bad cop parent or if you’re the soft, gooey one. I feel like I’d have to know Jack to really know which one you’d be –”

“I’d be neither,” Sammy doesn’t quite smile, but the affection in his eyes when he looks at Ben is so clear, even if they’re threatening to spill over with tears. "God. I haven't thought about buying all that stuff in so long."

Ben holds his breath, waiting and hoping and praying that Sammy will keep talking, and he does. Sammy's voice wobbles and tears threaten to spill, but he keeps talking. 

"I was so happy. Jack was so excited. We practically started the adoption paperwork that weekend until we remembered we probably needed to actually get married first," Sammy makes a sound that's more like a sob than a laugh. "The day we bought all the kid stuff is the last time I remember Jack being - being completely  _there_ , my Jack, before everything got so..."

Sammy's eyes cloud over and Ben knows the sharing portion is over. Even though his heart hurts for Sammy at every word, Ben just wants to know more. He wants to know everything he can about his best friend, and about Jack, too. 

"You'll get it," Ben tells him. "Jack, your kid, a family. You will."

“Ben, you really don’t have to say this kind of shit, I know it’s not –" Sammy swallows, squeezing his eyes shut almost painfully, " - that even if by some miracle I see Jack again, it’s not going to be –”

“Yes, it is,” Ben interrupts. He’s not going to let Sammy go there. “Sammy, you’re not just going to survive the rest of your life – you’re going to _live_. And it’s going to be happy. You’re gonna be a great husband, and a great father. You’re already a great big brother, you’ve got that part covered.”

“Thanks, Ben,” Sammy half-smiles, half-grimaces at him. Ben knows that means that Sammy’s at least going to _think_ about having a positive outlook for maybe five minutes before dissipating into his usual doom and gloom.

"I'm your kid's uncle, by the way," Ben tells him and Sammy almost laughs. "Lily and I will compete for who gives the best birthday presents."

"Alright then," Sammy's eyes are still sad even though his voice is light. "I don't quite believe you but -"

"You should," Ben says. "You just have to have a little faith sometimes."

Sammy tilts his head, his smile growing in size but somehow getting sadder at the same time. "Jack would love you, you know."

Ben's heart is, honestly, liable to burst. His eyes fill with tears again without a conscious thought. 

"Well, I'm going to love him," Ben says, hoping his voice doesn't sound too thick. "And I'm going to love your kid. And I already love  _you_. I mean, I basically already love Jack and your kid too, but seeing as how I've never met Jack and your kid doesn't exist yet....sorry. I'm meaning to say that I love you. So much. Okay?"

Ben honestly can't say he loves Sammy enough, Sammy's liable to forget sometimes, but this time Sammy just nods and leans in to hug Ben all on his own, squeezing the life out of him as he says a choked up, watery "Love you, too."

“Can I stay?" Ben asks into Sammy's shoulder. "Or do you wanna come watch something? I just – I just don’t want you to be alone. Shit, _I_ don’t want to be alone.”

“You never want to be alone,” Sammy says and Ben mock-gasps in offense, which makes Sammy chuckle for real. “Alright, I’ll come out of my room and we can watch TV. I need a distraction, anyway.”

“Good,” Ben tries not to choke up as he smiles, but at least Sammy’s smile is just as watery as he stands up, pushing Ben off the bed as he does.

Ben doesn’t miss what’s behind Sammy’s pillow, leaning against the headboard.

It’s the stuffed bear from the storage locker, no bigger than Sammy’s hand with tufted brown fur and the pillow that reads _I Love You Beary_ _Much_. Ben can imagine the look on Sammy's face when he and Jack bought it, a delighted  _wow, it's so cheesy, I love it._ He doesn't know if that's how it went down, but Ben imagines it that way. 

Ben doesn’t let Sammy know that he’s seen it, instead making  a comment about the new season of Queer Eye premiering next week and won’t it be nice to watch it together that makes Sammy roll his eyes and smile fondly. 

But Ben knows perfectly well what the bear means, what Sammy choosing to take the bear home with him symbolizes for the future.

Sammy’s more hopeful than he’s been letting on.


End file.
